Test Drive:
Jul. 29th, 2014 01:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
killerroseRoof Tops: Night
[Her sword drips with blood, her black boots standing in the middle of the dark puddle as she looks up into her victims gaze. Her eyes are cold and calculating as her grip on the girl’s neck shifts. Her sword rises up once more slicing her head from her shoulders with a clean poetic arc. The body falls like a doll over the edge of the building until landing below where the figure freezes in death.
Ib drops the head on the rooftop, the girl’s blood continuing to pool as blue eyes look out in horror. A tangled mass of dark blond hair is stained with red like everything else on the roof. It is a beautiful painting left scattered along the buildings edge.]
One more piece.
[Her voice is soft as she turns away. Her gloved hand holds a bloody mass of tissue as she walks towards the painting that calls her.]
Bar: Night
Ib tilted her head to the side, a curtain of dark hair falling in response. It was the same most nights and again she was asked out. Her tight leathery black top was enough to make the boy’s mouth water but add her red eyes, the dark shade of her hair and the fact that she worked in a gothic night club and you got the perfect eye candy.
She made good tips that way.
A cruel smile pulled at her lips, one she had practiced since her first day, while her thin finger reached out and trailed along the boys jaw. He was older than her but he had a baby face that made people card him constantly. His name might have been Trevor; Ib never really took the time to remember.
“You know I can’t.”
Daytime:
She walked through the streets, her hands at her sides with her shadow following close behind her. Her red gaze flicked over those walking passed as if looking for something she had lost. He was complete and yet that preditorial urge remained.
“Garry.”
Her voice was soft but rang with a tone that demanded it be listened to. In an instant the shadow stepped forward, his eyes dead and cold like the puppet that he was. Ib placed her hand in his, looking at him as if they were the only ones along the crowded street. Those looking at the pair might mistake them for lovers except that their bond was much deeper than that.
The hum of those around them pulled her from her thoughts; she released his hand and turned forward. Like a good puppet he followed behind keeping his cold gaze on her long brown hair as it fanned behind her.
Random:
Start your own scene!
[Her sword drips with blood, her black boots standing in the middle of the dark puddle as she looks up into her victims gaze. Her eyes are cold and calculating as her grip on the girl’s neck shifts. Her sword rises up once more slicing her head from her shoulders with a clean poetic arc. The body falls like a doll over the edge of the building until landing below where the figure freezes in death.
Ib drops the head on the rooftop, the girl’s blood continuing to pool as blue eyes look out in horror. A tangled mass of dark blond hair is stained with red like everything else on the roof. It is a beautiful painting left scattered along the buildings edge.]
One more piece.
[Her voice is soft as she turns away. Her gloved hand holds a bloody mass of tissue as she walks towards the painting that calls her.]
Bar: Night
Ib tilted her head to the side, a curtain of dark hair falling in response. It was the same most nights and again she was asked out. Her tight leathery black top was enough to make the boy’s mouth water but add her red eyes, the dark shade of her hair and the fact that she worked in a gothic night club and you got the perfect eye candy.
She made good tips that way.
A cruel smile pulled at her lips, one she had practiced since her first day, while her thin finger reached out and trailed along the boys jaw. He was older than her but he had a baby face that made people card him constantly. His name might have been Trevor; Ib never really took the time to remember.
“You know I can’t.”
Daytime:
She walked through the streets, her hands at her sides with her shadow following close behind her. Her red gaze flicked over those walking passed as if looking for something she had lost. He was complete and yet that preditorial urge remained.
“Garry.”
Her voice was soft but rang with a tone that demanded it be listened to. In an instant the shadow stepped forward, his eyes dead and cold like the puppet that he was. Ib placed her hand in his, looking at him as if they were the only ones along the crowded street. Those looking at the pair might mistake them for lovers except that their bond was much deeper than that.
The hum of those around them pulled her from her thoughts; she released his hand and turned forward. Like a good puppet he followed behind keeping his cold gaze on her long brown hair as it fanned behind her.
Random:
Start your own scene!
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-03 01:51 am (UTC)He had only meant to lead her away from the nosy and noisy patrons of the establishment, but Ib had taken charge, ducking into a door he hadn't noticed and pulling him along with her. The look that she gave to them didn't escape his notice. She had quite a fierce stare. One that was unfamiliar to him. He'd never seen her look like that when she was a little girl.
... What had he missed? He truly failed her, hadn't he?
He really ought to have a cigarette later. Just to de-stress or something. But Ib had to come first. They had to figure everything out.
In the darkness, he coughed a little, unnerved at the darkness in the back room. Honestly, it reminded him of a few rooms in that gallery, with the dark boxes on shelves and the overall lack of use on them.
Pushing back his trauma, he turned toward her, not liking the way she had shielded herself from him. Her hand still needed to be fixed, and none of her words made sense. He was sure he made it to the end with her. And he wasn't dead--confused, and he'd missed so much, but he wasn't dead.
Taking a step forward, he reached out, brushing back her hair behind her ear with one hand and taking her bleeding hand with the other. "I ... I promise, Ib, I didn't die. I just saw you, a couple of weeks ago. I took your hand and we were going to jump into the painting. Together."
His heart ached. "I ... maybe something happened. Maybe I was stuck somewhere. For---for years, maybe. Ib, I'm so sorry." How could he help? How could he make up for everything he'd done? "How long has it been? For you, I mean ..."
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-03 01:46 pm (UTC)She had his lighter too but she assumed that it was only a copy of his. Garry wouldn’t give a child a lighter to hold on too.
Everything about him felt unreal, that is until he tucked her hair behind her ear. Bright red eyes looked at him as if he was slowly showing her a new world. One not filled by darkness and blood. “It’s been… so long.” She felt a knot in her chest tighten as her gaze looked down at her bleeding finger. It really wasn’t a deep cut and it’d be mostly gone by morning, it wasn’t anything to worry over but then worrying was what Garry did. “I’m eighteen now. So much has happened.” How many years was it since her parent’s death? She’s lost count.
“I don’t know where to start.” Ib didn’t smoke but right now she really wished she did. Maybe Garry would let her borrow just one cigarette? A part of her doubted it while another part of her insisted that he couldn’t tell her what to do. It wasn’t as if they were related but after the gallery she felt like Garry was the only family she had. She’s given up so much to bring him back.
“I have a painting of you…” A painting filled with the blood of those she’s killed.
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-03 08:05 pm (UTC)... Come to think of it, where were her parents now?
He sat down on the bed, patting the space next to him. It would be easier to tend to her hand this way, and maybe resting her legs would be beneficial for her right now. "We have time--your club can wait."
Already, he was lifting the edge of his ratty coat to wipe the blood from her arm, the handkerchief resting on his lap. "Take your time to gather yourself. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to shock you. To be honest, I'm rather surprised myself." He blinked, tending to her wound. "You had a painting made?"
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-03 08:21 pm (UTC)She moved slowly coming to sit next to him without saying a word. Her long hair fanned around her and she was careful not to sit on any of the dark strains. Ib didn’t want to look at him, she didn’t want him to know the truth but she couldn’t ever lie to him either. Her eyes remained locked with the floor as her thin fingers positioned to where he could reach them.
“No, the painting is from the gallery. I stole it.” She paused. “It’s a painting of you.”
For the moment Ib hoped he’d forget her parents. It was too painful to say aloud and she’s gone years without admitting the loose to anyone. Then there was the painting and she was sure that Garry’s dead figure still rested within its golden frame. She wanted to check, she wanted to take him there and show him but it was a dark place and in that room with the painting rested all of her dark secrets.
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-04 03:33 am (UTC)She failed to answer his question about her parents. So he didn't press the matter. He had a feeling--a terrible, chilling feeling--that he knew what must've happened if she turned out to be so sad.
Her innocence had gone, and he doubted it had entirely to do with the gallery. Something else must've happened. She must've gone through so much. He sighed, wiping up the blood before taking her hand between his fingers, delicately wrapping her cut in that handkerchief as she had done for him. "... I didn't know you could take something with you. You went back? I didn't even know there was a painting of me."
He remembered there was one of her. A chilling one, where she was hanging.
Garry didn't want to think about it. "Ib ... I know I've missed so much, but please. Tell me what happened. I'm here now. I won't leave your side again."
Bar: Night
Date: 2015-08-04 03:12 pm (UTC)Ib sighed leaning against him so her head rested on his shoulder. She didn’t want to tell him anything. She just wanted to enjoy the warmth of him sitting next to her.
Except that he probably wouldn’t accept no knowing for very long.
Her eyes slipped closed and she thought back. Her voice was calm and slow as if taking the time to remember every small detail of the event. “It started in the gallery. We had fallen into the toy box. I found you first and I guess in that time Mary had found my rose. You traded yours for mine, you said you weren’t mad at me but I always thought that you were. You took my hand and lead me forward. We followed a trail of blue rose petals…” Ib’s voice softens slightly. “You fell against the wall saying that you felt weak but that I should go ahead. That you would catch up with me. I went to the top of the stairs and I found Mary. She pulled the last petal from your rose and laughed. She wanted us to go together. To the real world.”
Ib felt tears brim to the surface but she kept her eyes closed. “I ran back to you hoping that you were alive. I still remember it, your body was slumped against the wall and you weren’t breathing” She had curled up next to him and she didn’t know how long she stayed before she finally steeled herself to leave. “I took your lighter.”